


Lookin’ Pretty

by thepinballer



Category: Oklahoma! - Rodgers/Hammerstein
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, i don’t KNOW what i write i just blackout for a bit, is that a tag, i’m always so bad at tags ugh, stupid dumbasses being playful jerks to each other, there’s a horse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:29:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21999763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinballer/pseuds/thepinballer
Summary: i haven’t posted a fic since july
Relationships: Curly McLain/Laurey Williams
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Lookin’ Pretty

Laurey hates everything about him. His smartass comments, his obnoxious crooning, his lopsided grin, his slender fingers plucking at his guitar, his lean form sprawled back across her porch swing, his long legs kicked up onto the arm of said swing, his curls falling into his dumb face, his sad doe eyes following her wherever she walks, and, worst of all, the stupid way in which he whines her name when on the hunt for attention.

“What?” she snaps back, internally yelling at herself for walking past the porch at all. 

Curly sits up a little straighter, offering her one of his stupid smiles. “Aw, c’mon now Miss Laurey, somebody might mistake you fer a gator, what with the way yer always snappin’ like that.”

“An’ somebody might mistake  _ you  _ fer a corpse, what with the way yer always layin’ around and bein’ generally useless all the damn time.”

He makes a hurt noise before standing up and making his way over to her. Goddamn the invention of guitar straps. “Way I see is that without me, you’d be stuck out here still workin’ hard, but without anythin’ pretty to look at.” He takes his sweet time getting through the sentence, but he, rather unfortunately, walks much faster than he talks. He keeps with Laurey’s quick pace, and gives her another bright smile when she glares at him.

“Please. Yer uglier than a bullfrog. All warts and lumps and y’don’t even realize it. Would say you have the face of a 12-year-old, but even they don’t deserve that kinda insult. Every time you pass a mirror, it shatters. Why I’d reckon yer the ugliest person I ever did meet.”

He stops walking. When Laurey turns around to face him, she finds him far too close for comfort. Those sad eyes of his stare into hers, his thick eyebrows pushed up into some pitiful expression. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he starts in a soft voice. Laurey refuses to acknowledge how her heart flutters. “Don’t talk about yerself like that.” He’s giggling at the end of his sentence, and falls into loud laughter when Laurey groans and pushes him away. 

She turns and quickly continues on her path to the barn, and Curly follows after her like some obnoxious hound. “Aw, Laurey, baby, I was only jokin’! Y’know yer the prettiest girl in all the territories!” he calls after her, laughing when she raises a middle finger over her shoulder. “Do you want me to sing you a song? I can sing a song!”

“Don’t nobody want you singin’ a damn song!” she yells back before disappearing into the barn. Curly groans and pauses to move his guitar onto his back before continuing after her. 

When he enters the barn, he finds her saddling up her horse, Dallas. He’s always been amused by Laurey riding that big Clydesdale everywhere- damn thing’s taller than him, while she’s not much over five feet. Curly leans over the fencing and offers a hand out for the horse to sniff. 

“Thought I told you to go away. I got things to do,” Laurey says, but there’s no real frustration in her voice. Dallas seems neutral towards Curly’s existence. He reaches out a little further and pats the horse’s neck before letting his arm drop.

“Where you goin’?”

“Gotta go into town and pick up some stuff. Coffee, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, chicken feed, matches, rope. Whiskey to deal with you.”

“Rope for me too?”

Laurey makes a disgusted noise and hits his arm. “Hush.” 

“Alright, alright, don’t let me keep you here then.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Open the gate.”

Curly does as told, stepping out of the way while she leads Dallas out of his stall. “Y’need some help gettin’ up there?” he asks with a laugh as she steps onto a rather tall stool.

“Not from you,” she responds as she hops into the saddle. She looks down at Curly and sighs, almost in pity. “I’m makin’ a pie tomorrow. Y’can come by if y’want some, but I’m not gonna bring any of it to you. And don’t hang around here too long today. Don’t want you pickin’ a fight with Jud.”

“Aw, I don’t pick fights.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “I don’t!”

“Uh-huh. Well, better you run off anyways, so as he won’t pick a fight with you. How’s that?”

He gives her a bright smile, and her dead expression softens. “Mm, works for me! Got other places to be anyways.”

“Oh, got someone else to tolerate you doin’ nothin’ but sittin’ around and lookin’ pretty?” she laughs. Good God, he would jump off a bridge if it meant hearing that laugh. “See y’later, Curly.” She reaches out and ruffles his hair before setting off. He stands there and watches her, sitting tall on that monster of a horse. The sunlight hits her hair just right, shining through her mass of tight curls. She lifts an arm and waves back at him, something sweet and simply. Christ. Curly loves everything about her. 

**Author's Note:**

> please clap


End file.
